


Compared To This

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: 2008 TS secret santa extravaganza fic, Based on photo manip of Jim as a very sexy Santa, Christmas, M/M, Santa suit; sexy version with bonus handcuffs, Schmoop, mild implied bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim attempts to indulge in a little Santa role play. Of sorts.Inspired by Jane Davitt's gorgeousJim-as-very-sexy-Santa-with-bonus-handcuffs photo manip





	Compared To This

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2008 TS Secret Santa extravaganza

Blair's halfway up the stairs, mostly watching his socks as he climbs, when Jim's voice comes down from the bedroom to meet him. "Want to be on my naughty list, Chief?" Jim asks, and it's very nearly a purr, and Blair looks up, and over through the railing, and at Jim. 

At Jim, who's stretched out on the bed, propped up on his elbow and wearing that little half-smile that always hits Blair with twice the force of a fission reaction, and wearing…

And wearing…

Whoa, Blair thinks; Okay… And then he thinks a moment longer and smiles — to himself — and says, "Huh?" casually, and doesn't pause as he finishes climbing the steps. Absently, he adds, "Who, me? I've been good," and glances around the room, frowning, before he heads toward the dresser. "Did I leave my glasses up here?" he asks, eyes scanning the dresser top. "I want to finish reading that AJPA article on the allometry of the primary somatosensory —"

It's a small bedroom. Or a small _enough_ bedroom, and heading toward the dresser brings him in reach of a velvet-covered arm. And suddenly he's lying on top of Santa, pulled in close to Santa's smooth and nicely ripped chest by muscles that are steel under all that lush red velvet, and Santa is whispering in his ear, "You shit," and Blair is laughing. And laughing harder as Santa starts tickling him with merciless fingers trailed by the mercilessly tickly silky white fur of those wide white cuffs. And still laughing as Santa growls, "That wasn't exactly the reaction I was going for, Chief," and snaps one end of the other cuffs — the metal cuffs — around Blair's wrist with a click that makes Blair's laughter catch in his throat.

"The _next_ time I dress up as Santa for you," Santa begins warningly, and Blair starts laughing again because Santa looks so irresistibly _cute_ when he pouts, "I —"

Which is as far as Santa gets, because there are times when you just really have to kiss Santa Claus, and even Santa — magical being though he is, able to circumnavigate the globe in a completely unpressurized and ridiculously nonaerodynamic sleigh in a single freaking day while relying solely on reindeer radar — even Santa can't really talk and be kissed at the same time. At least not when he's being kissed the way Blair is currently kissing him.

"Okay," Blair says, eventually, after he's caught his breath. "Okay." He rubs the side of his face against velvet… fur… skin… and lets his hand wander slowly down Santa's chest toward the drawstring of Santa's red velvet pants. "Yes," he adds, just to be clear about it — as if Santa doesn't already know everything Blair wants — "put me on your naughty list, Santa. Do your worst, man. I'm at your mercy." 

Santa answers, "Yeah, you are," to that, in a voice that wraps around Blair more warmly than fur-cuffed velvet, and smiles. And it's _that_ smile, the one that makes Blair believe in Christmas — believe in everything — and then Santa threads his fingers through Blair's hair, curving his palms firmly against Blair's skull, and brings Blair's face down close to his own. And really, Blair thinks, as he looks into Santa's intent blue eyes — really, circumnavigating the globe in a flimsy nine-reindeer-power open sleigh and fitting a significantly built body through a bunch of Chihuahua-sized chimneys is the least of Santa's magic; really nothing, compared to this.

Really nothing at all, compared to this.


End file.
